Under a Starry Sky: A perfectly feel-good and uplifting story of second chances to escape with this summer 2020!

by Laura Kemp

  ‘All right, Ursula Andress?’ Lew said, before launching into a rendition of the James Bond theme music.

  ‘Oh, if it isn’t Daniel bloody Craig in his budgie smugglers!’ she said, full of sarcasm, which was really hard to do actually, because he looked better than Daniel bloody Craig in his budgie smugglers. Lew had only been here a week and already he was mahogany. She looked like a pint of semi-skimmed next to him.

  ‘I love your freckles,’ he said, as if he’d read her insecurity, planting a big kiss on her lips. ‘Here, got you one of these.’

  He handed her a chilled coconut with a straw.

  ‘It better not be one of those cleansing turmeric ones, they’re vile,’ she said. ‘Or laced with rum. I’m still a bit fragile from last night.’

  ‘Nope. Just coconut water.’

  Phew! The tourist side of Indonesia was a place of extremes, either party central or hippy heaven. So it was a welcome relief to arrive on the Togean islands yesterday. Lew had flown in to Bali on Christmas Eve and their Christmas Day had been spent mostly in bed in a fancy hotel as a treat for their reunion. Wanda had been so excited to see him; apprehensive, too, because she was still haunted by ‘what ifs’. Yet as soon as he’d stepped out of arrivals, they’d clung to one another like the soulmates they were. She’d been proud to negotiate the crowds, to get them back to the hotel and then out the next day for a simple but delicious seafood meal. But the heaving hustle of Bali had been too much for them: Wanda suggested the Togean islands, having heard they were relatively unspoiled. She flaming well hoped so after she broke it to Lew that it would take an overnight eighteen-hour ferry journey to get there. She remembered what he’d said about not wanting adventure. But he let her take control and God, was it worth it. New Year’s Eve was riotous back on Bali, with fireworks, twenty-four-hour open-air beach clubbing and champagne. Here it had been more low-key, with sundowners, drinks and dinner on the sand and local musicians drumming in midnight before they’d returned to their bungalow for some fireworks of their own.

  ‘What do you fancy doing, then?’ Wanda asked, stretching out with a sigh. ‘A boat trip? A dive? The coral reef is spectacular, apparently. Or there’s a lake where you can swim with stingless jellyfish.’

  ‘Whatever you want to do, my little mermaid,’ Lew said.

  ‘To be honest, I’m happy to just chill today.’

  ‘Me too. We’ve got bags of time. Another three weeks, I make it.’

  That reminded her.

  ‘Lew,’ she said, turning to face him as he did the same and reached out for her hand. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Not again. Does your brain ever stop?’

  ‘Listen, this is important. I think I’m ready to go home.’

  ‘Now? We’ve only just got here!’

  ‘No. After. Once we’ve left here and travelled around. When you go, I mean.’

  ‘Really?’ He pushed up his sunglasses and his eyes were even more beautiful, matching his tanned skin.

  ‘Yeah. I’m done with it. I’ve had a good time and I’ve done what I wanted to do and no one died and I just think I’ve reached the end point. Is that rubbish of me?’

  ‘No. It’s up to you, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.’

  ‘I’ll rearrange my flights, then. I can do India and Morocco another time.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He was beaming unashamedly.

  ‘Yeah!’ She took a slurp of her coconut water. ‘It’s all part of the plan.’

  ‘It’s a goer, you reckon then?’ Lew got up and sat on the side of her bed, parking himself next to her so his thigh touched hers. He was the most touchy-feely man she’d ever known, as if he was making up for their lost years.

  ‘There’s definitely a gap in the market for me to organise itineraries for women travellers my age and upwards. I’ve found some brilliant spots, more upmarket than budget backpacking but not stuffy. I met lots of women who wished they’d had some kind of insight, or that there was a way you could match solo travellers together. I can do that for them. I can do it from home. I just need to take it online. While it builds, I can do some shifts at the campsite—’

  ‘You can help at The Bunkhouse if you’d like, too. And,’ he said, beneath those thick eyelashes, ‘you know, you could always … stay with me, for nothing …’

  Wanda almost squealed. ‘As in kind of … move in?’ Bowen was still renting her flat and Sara loved the short commute to work.

  ‘Well, your toothbrush is still there. We were practically living together anyway. So why not?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘It’s not as though we have to wait to get to know each other, is it?’

  Lew laughed. ‘You know me, scars and all. Talking of which …’

  He handed her his sunblock and asked her to do the honours. And it was an honour to touch the part of him that was part of them. She dotted the cream on her fingertips and began to massage it in to protect the damage. And then she kissed his shoulder blades one by one, smelling the salt and sun on him.

  ‘I miss smelling Will and Liam,’ she said, laying her cheek on his back, wrapping her arms round his downy waist. ‘Their little fluffy duck hair. It’s almost painful seeing them on FaceTime and not being able to sniff them.’

  This was another reason why she felt the call of home.

  ‘Four months old now. I missed their first smiles.’

  ‘Oh, Wanda, don’t beat yourself up about it. They don’t know anyone at the moment apart from Mam, Dad and Nanny!’

  ‘I want to go home, Lew. I want to see my nephews growing up.’

  Lew turned to hug her and his embrace squeezed out more of her hidden feelings.

  ‘I want to make sure Mam isn’t overdoing it, keep an eye on the campsite.’

  ‘I told you, Danny is doing a fantastic job.’

  As luck would have it, when they were wetting the babies’ heads, Danny had told Wanda how much he hated working nine to five in an office. He’d always wanted to do something outdoorsy and vocational. She’d talked it over with Carys, who’d loved the suggestion: Danny was hands-on with the twins, determined to give this unexpected family unit everything to make it work. And Mam was delighted when he agreed to manage Under A Starry Sky.

  ‘I need to make sure Mam isn’t dating the wrong type either on those websites.’

  ‘She’s just having fun!’

  ‘I miss Sara. And Blod.’

  ‘They’re both in la-la-loved-up land so I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  ‘I miss Annie, too.’

  ‘She misses you. But she’s got so much on with her teacher training and doing up the house.’ She’d bought the cottage next door to Spike and Arthur and they were living happily side by side. The first thing she’d done when she moved in was tear down the fence between them and Teg was free to wander back and forth between their back doors. On the quiet, Annie had told her Spike wanted to try for a baby with her – and they were giving it their best shot.

  ‘And you make me want to go home again too. I miss you,’ her voice wobbled. ‘Te echo de menos.’ Once she’d got to grips with finding out where the toilets were and how much a coffee was, that was the first phrase that really stuck when she’d learned Spanish.

  ‘Now you’re just being dramatic,’ he said, rubbing her back, and she could hear the smile in his voice. She gave him a pretend shove and then broke off from their hug so she could stare into his eyes. ‘But that’s why I love you, Wanda Williams,’ he said.

  ‘To the stars and back?’ she asked.

  ‘More. To the Welsh stars and back.’

  To that night sky in Gobaith, specifically. That was what she missed most of all: the land of her father, the mountain protecting the village, her home, the place of her birth. She’d gone away to find out that the place she loved most was where she had started. But she�
�d had to go through this to find that out. A sigh came from her lips. As usual she was getting caught up in it all.

  ‘Right,’ she said, slapping her thighs, ‘I’m not sure I’ve made enough of a fool of myself so far today.’ She threw Lew’s snorkel at him and put on her own, laughing at their giant goggles. ‘Let’s go and see what we can find. I wonder if we could get snorkelling masks for the lake at the campsite? That’d be good!’

  Lew rolled his eyes at her. ‘Just forget about Gobaith for once! Let’s enjoy the rest of the holiday.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ she huffed.

  ‘Good! We’ll be home before we know it,’ he said.

  ‘I know, I know!’ Wanda said as she took his hand and led him to the sea, ‘I can’t bloody wait!’

  Acknowledgements

  It all started in 2018 when my friend and I decided to drag our boys off their screens and into the great Welsh outdoors.

  We jokingly called it Rambling Club, we being very much not ramblers, possessing neither walking poles nor beards. Just two mums making gags about how ‘extreme’ we were, taking packed lunches and sweets for our sons’ flagging limbs, getting overtaken by the pros in hardcore outdoorsy walking gear.

  Our first hike was ambitious – Pen y Fan, the highest mountain in South Wales. But the screaming of my thighs was drowned out by the joy of reaching the top and seeing the wilderness of the beautiful Brecon Beacons stretch out beneath us. It had us hooked, even the kids, especially Ollie, my dog aka The Secretary.

  Since then we have walked behind the waterfall of Sgwd yr Eira, trekked to the tidal island of Worm’s Head, encountered wild horses on lonely roads, conquered The Skirrid and The Blorenge and sighed at beaches and forests and bluebells. Most wonderful of all, we had a freezing and very remote wild swim in Llyn y Fan Fach, the inspiration behind the lake in this book. (Apologies if you happened to see my exposed backside that day while I was getting changed, there is a helpline available.) Please note, I used artistic licence to relocate its Lady of the Lake legend to my fictional village of Gobaith, I hope she doesn’t mind.

  Every adventure always includes a cry of ‘let’s get ready to raaaaamble’ (spoken like the boxing MC Michael Buffer and then sang like Ant and Dec), getting lost, taking ridiculous short cuts up and down sheer hillsides and wet feet – but that’s all part of it, life too. What stays with us though is the magic of the landscape and the awe it inspires. Laughter, lots of that, with my dear friend Ceri and pride in our boys, Reuben and Paddy. So it’s to them I say my first thank you. Rambling is the new raving!

  Next is the coolest gardener in the world @girlinthegarden77, who let me shadow her for a few weeks so I got to experience Annie’s back-breaking work for myself. It’s the toughest job I’ve done - thorns, sunburn, getting drenched, clearing ponds with bare hands and blisters from digging in all weathers - but there’s no satisfaction like it when you’re done. Chloe, you’re an inspiration.

  A huge diolch to Angharad Rhys, my wonderful Welsh-speaking friend who answers my ignorant questions on the language and its meaning. Any errors are obviously mine.

  Thanks also to one of the best humans I’ve never met – @hoskas who once tweeted the advice she gave her sons growing up which I loved, admired, pinched for this book and also dish out to my son: Don’t Be A Dick.

  Nick Machin, how we miss you, Fork Handles is for you and Sufia.

  To my soundboard JC, who claims superstition as the reason why he’s never read a word I’ve written, and Pillow the cat who tries to change them by stalking across my keyboard.

  Then there’s one of my earliest and loyal readers June Bolt, for her lush bara brith.

  Friends and family – I love you, gang.

  Now to the fabulous book people…

  Lizzy Kremer, my agent, who is my queen and I adore her. Everyone at David Higham, especially Maddalena Cavaciuti, for doing the maths and contracts and stuff that I have no idea about.

  My editor, former Orion publishing director, Clare ‘Steel’ Hey, for her infinite genius and for making me better.

  Sally Partington once again delivered a magnificent edit, saving me from grammar jail and educated me in the process, you have the very best eye.

  Plus Alainna, Babs, Britt, sales, audio and all at Orion – my name is on the book but you guys do the real work. Artist Robyn Neild is a mind-reader because her covers always match what I imagine in my head.

  Retailers, it’s a dream come true to see my books on your shelves. Special thanks to marvellous Mel and the team at Griffin Books – I am very lucky to have such a busy and bright bookshop down the road.

  My author pals are The Best – thank you for keeping me going when the words are difficult to find, especially Miranda Dickinson this time for giving me lots of support when the going got tough. Pro-reviewers, you’re so very wonderful and your opinions matter so much. Bloggers, you’re unsung heroes, giving up your time for nothing for the sheer love of books.

  I always thank my Twitter and Facebook pals too, you brighten my day and help when I’m limping along at my desk.

  Finally, you, the reader. (I have readers! I still can’t get over it.) Your messages and your reviews make my heart burst. Thank you so very much for everything, lovelies.

  By the way, should you ever be in Annie’s position, the Dogs Trust runs the Freedom Project, which helps owners escape domestic abuse by providing safe temporary foster homes for their dogs. Please give them a call and set yourself and your dog free.

  Credits

  Orion Fiction would like to thank everyone at Orion who worked on the publication of Under A Starry Sky in the UK.

  Editorial

  Charlotte Mursell

  Clare Hey

  Olivia Barber

  Copy editor

  Sally Partington

  Proof reader

  Jade Craddock

  Audio

  Paul Stark

  Amber Bates

  Contracts

  Anne Goddard

  Paul Bulos

  Jake Alderson

  Design

  Rabab Adams

  Joanna Ridley

  Nick May

  Production

  Ruth Sharvell

  Editorial Management

  Charlie Panayiotou

  Jane Hughes

  Alice Davis

  Finance

  Jasdip Nandra

  Afeera Ahmed

  Elizabeth Beaumont

  Sue Baker

  Marketing

  Brittany Sankey

  Publicity

  Alainna Hadjigeorgiou

  Sales

  Laura Fletcher

  Esther Waters

  Victoria Laws

  Rachael Hum

  Ellie Kyrke-Smith

  Frances Doyle

  Georgina Cutler

  Operations

  Jo Jacobs

  Sharon Willis

  Lisa Pryde

  Lucy Brem

  About the author

  Laura Kemp writes tender but hilarious romantic comedies. A former journalist, she lives near Cardiff and is ably assisted by her secretary, Ollie the family dog, who, to be honest, isn’t the brightest. But we love him anyway.

  Follow all her book news at

  facebook.com/Laurakempbooks

  or on

  Twitter @Laurajanekemp

  Also by Laura Kemp

  The Year of Surprising Acts of Kindness

  Bring Me Sunshine

  Copyright

  First published in paperback in Great Britain in 2020

  by Orion Fiction

  an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

 
An Hachette UK Company

  Copyright © Laura Kemp 2020

  The moral right of Laura Kemp to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  All the characters in this book, except for those already in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN (eBook) 978 1 4091 8919 0

  www.orionbooks.co.uk